


Can You Not See I Have Bigger Problems?

by Gabri



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Violence, evil!Val, tbh I think the entire movie would have been 90 times better if she was evil, yeah it's my first attempt at writing Val as a villain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 16:10:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2354552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabri/pseuds/Gabri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“<i>They’ve killed,</i>" Valka screams, "<i><b>THOUSANDS</b> of us—-</i>”</p>
<p>Gods above, he’d laugh if he wasn’t so frozen to the spot, because isn’t that what they say about fate? That it’s a set of repeating circles, two steps forward and one gigantic step back?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can You Not See I Have Bigger Problems?

**Author's Note:**

> All I want forever is for Val to have been villain. 
> 
> So here's my first stab at evil!Val. Violence ahead.

There’s a heart in her. He knows there is. She’s not like the Red Death, beyond reason, beyond love. She’s touched his cheek, and kissed his forehead. She’s bared him her soul in regret. He’s seen her afraid, he’s seen her happy. He’s seen her trembling and weak.   
  
He never thought he’d see her like this.

“ _They’ve killed_ ," Valka screams, " _ **THOUSANDS** of us—-_ ”

Gods above, he’d laugh if he wasn’t so frozen to the spot, because isn’t that what they say about fate? That it’s a set of repeating circles, two steps forward and one gigantic step back?   
  
"And you, you can’t bear to think that we would _defend_ ourselves? Our _home?_ He is a _THREAT—_ ”   
  
She steadies the dagger against Eret’s throat, and the sound of primal terror he makes fills Hiccup’s brain with sand.   
  
"To our _NEST—_ "   
  
"—he’s a _musclehead_ who doesn’t know what he’s doing!” Hiccup babbles, hands held palm-open in a desperate attempt to calm her. _“He’s not **dangerous!** Look at him,_ Mom!”   
  
This isn’t good. He can hear his voice climbing — _stay calm_ , he thinks desperately. _Don’t aggravate the situation. Don’t challenge her. Just — just imagine she’s a dragon._   
  
A dragon. Right. A powerful breed, impulsive and hardened by war and wreckage. Imagine she’s got fangs, and claws — this can’t possibly be so difficult. She’s fashioned some of her own, after all. She’s not delicate, he tells himself, she’s a beast, a force to be reckoned with.   
  
Think of Toothless, eyeing the knife strapped to his hip….   
  
Think of Hookfang, urged on by the sounds of the Kill Ring, ready to fire but waiting, waiting….   
  
Hiccup can hear the roar of the ocean wind behind them. The thud of his own heart. He can see Eret’s pulse jumping fast, so fast it’s as if his heart might burst before Valka gets a chance to cut it from his still-screaming throat.   
  
She’s not a dragon, he thinks suddenly. She’s his mother. She has his very own wide, wide eyes, and the crooked shape of his mouth. She has his hands, underneath the illusion of talons she’s grafted over her armor. Hands she once held him with. For a few months, maybe. A year. But he’s been crafted from her flesh and blood, and that’s supposed to matter. It’s supposed to bond them.   
  
She’s supposed to _understand._   
  
"Mom," he says again, and no, _no,_ that’s not how he meant his voice to sound at all. It’s high and thin, fragile. Even the youngest and most trusting of dragons could tell that he’s wide open for attack. “ _Mom_ ,” he repeats, but he knows it’s not use. He can’t control the way he shakes. “Look at him, Mom, _please._ He’s scared.”   
  
You’re not supposed to beg with dragons.   
  
"Can’t you see how _scared_ he is?”   
  
And you’re not supposed to fold, either.   
  
"The _hatchlings_ were scared.” Valka hisses. “The _Alpha_ was scared. The Silver Phantom with it’s eyes blinded by trapper’s arrows, trappers like _this—_ ” her dagger presses in, drawing a single bead of ruby against Eret’s whining throat, “ _She_ was scared as she floundered about in the dark, helpless — _THIS—_ " Her knuckles tighten, and for one freezing cold moment Hiccup thinks she’s really going to slash. " _ **THIS** is a threat,_ Hiccup!”   
  
…the most ridiculous thing is, he can’t find the words.   
  
That’s all he has, really. Words.   
  
He hadn’t seen it coming. He hadn’t seen _her_ coming. There’s a moment that lasts an eternity, in which logically he knows Eret has only drawn three or four more breaths, but it seems as though hours have passed. And then her eyes soften, blue-green and indulgent in their compassion, and he’s reminded at once with how the mothers act around their newborn. Those that have not yet gained the strength to test their wings, and don’t know the colors of the lands beyond the safety of their nest.   
  
"Hiccup, darling." she says, silky-sweet. Patient. "This is a threat, you see? He needs to be removed."   
  
"He needs to die, you mean." His voice seems to come from a thousand miles away. Valka does not agree, but she does not disagree either. There’s sternness in her gaze, honey in her voice. He searches her eyes desperately for a mirror reflection. For any sign of love.   
  
"Get back inside." she soothes. It’s actually a purr, the way she says it. This is the voice he could have fallen asleep too on Berk. It’s a voice many have heard from within the hard walls of their eggs, dreaming innocently against as they waited to be born.   
  
But there’s mercy in it. There’s a chance.   
  
So. Okay. So, he’s got a chance. She’s not shouting anymore. She wants his approval. He can win her over. Play the part of the newly hatched dragon. Coo until Toothless arrives, maybe, or the other trappers arrive. She’s his mother, after all, and he’s her baby. She’ll—-   
  
"Get back in the nest, love."   
  
_—tear her hand back_ , and the noise he makes, the _noise_ — instantly he knows he’ll never be able to forget that wet, ripping sound. It’s red, it’s so, _so,_ red — Hiccup’s seen people die but he’s never seen them die like _this._ Valka’s not angry. She’s not even sad. She’s hardened by war and wreckage and he doesn’t _know_ her, he doesn’t know this creature, this woman, this _thing._   
  
Her hands are dripping. Hiccup can feel it, too. _Drip-drip-drip_ from his own naked palms. _Drip-drip-drip_ from his heart.   
  
"I’ve your mess to clean up." she sighs.


End file.
